


Beauty and the Beasts

by nirejseki



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Beauty and the Beast Fusion, Animal Transformation, Fairy Tale Curses, Fluff and Crack, Gen, M/M, Snark, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 06:27:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13229925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nirejseki/pseuds/nirejseki
Summary: When Leonard Snart was eleven, he was rude to a beautiful enchantress he met while in an enchanted wood, and she laid a dreadful curse upon him. However, as those who knew and would learn to know him are all too well aware, Leonard Snart is also mouthy, combative and excessively smart, which meant it all went downhill from that point on.(a Disney's Beauty and the Beast fusion gone horribly wrong)





	Beauty and the Beasts

When Leonard Snart was eleven, he was rude to a beautiful enchantress he met while in an enchanted wood, and she laid a dreadful curse upon him. However, as those who knew and would learn to know him are all too well aware, Leonard Snart is also mouthy, combative and excessively smart, which meant it all went downhill from that point on.

"What do you mean I'm _cursed_?" he demands, hands on his hips. "What _for_?!"

"You were inhospitable," the enchantress says, her nose firmly in the air. "You turned me away at your door -"

"I don't live here, lady," Len shoots back. "It's a goddamn hotel, and I'm here on a school trip. Of course I ain't gonna let you in! For all I know, you're an axe murderer!"

The enchantress pauses, not having considered this angle before. 

"Well," she says, recovering quickly, though perhaps her nose was not held quite so high. "You were rude. Your manners -"

"I'm _eleven_ ," Len points out. "If you got an issue with my manners, you ought to be angry at them that taught 'em to me."

The enchantress stares at him. "You can't seriously be claiming that your parents taught you to call strange women a - er -" She didn't particularly care to repeat it, though privately she thought it was a frightfully clever insult. 

"You outta see what my dad calls women," Len says grimly. "I was being _nice_."

"By calling me a -"

"I thought you were an axe murderer!"

"You were still rude!" she exclaims. 

"I'm under the age of reason!" he hollers back. "Do you know anything about children? I'm _impressionable_! And you're making a really bad impression, so really, it's partially your fault."

The enchantress did not appreciate that suggestion, but was also starting to get the distinct feeling that this was all going quickly out of her control.

"Well, I'm still cursing you," she informs him. Her nose is distinctly pointed downwards, though, and Len leaps on the sign of guilt. 

"That ain't very sporting if I ain't don't nothing wrong," he says. "You beat up on kids a lot, miss?"

"I do _not_."

"Uh- _huh_."

"You're being very ungracious _now_ , you know,” she says hopefully.

"To the person who just told me she's cursing me," Len points out, his voice flat.

The enchantress does not want to concede the point, so she just moves on.

"I curse your house -" she starts.

"I don't own a house," Len interrupts. "Do you mean my dad's house?"

"The house in which you live," she amends.

"Sometimes we live in a trailer," Len says. "Does that count? It has wheels."

The enchantress blinks at him. "Really?"

"Yup."

"You - don't live in a castle in the woods?" she asks, gesturing at the one they're in.

"I already told you," Len says, rolling his eyes. "It's a hotel. We're here for a school trip."

"So you live -"

"Central City slums."

"A city," the enchantress repeats. Being an enchantress, she didn't deal with those too often. Cities had their own magic, a rough and practical sort of magic that didn't think much of forest magic like hers.

"Slums," Len corrects. "The worst part of a city, the parts the city's too ashamed to admit exist."

"You're not a spoiled prince?" the enchantress asks. It seemed increasingly unlikely, but you never know with city folk.

"I'm flat broke, and always have been." He thinks about it. "Several generations of it, too."

This was not exactly comfortable news for the enchantress, who largely trafficked in royalty and (when absent) the rich and upper-middle-class. 

"Do you have _any_ relations to a royal family?" she asks, feeling somewhat oppressed.

"My dad's a low level enforcer for a mob family," Len says thoughtfully. "Does that count?"

"No," the enchantress says, horrified. "Definitely not."

"Then nope."

The enchantress makes a face.

"Thus the bad manners," Len adds helpfully.

The enchantress did not find it particularly helpful.

"You could always just drop the curse business," Len suggests. "I got a sister I'm raising all on my lonesome, my dad's awful, I really don't got time for a curse..."

"Your mother?"

"Died of a drug overdose. Possibly murdered."

"Do you have _any_ good influences whatsoever?" the enchantress asks, morbidly curious now. 

"My grandfather was nice, but he was definitely murdered by a handful of corrupt cops. My dad's friends, actually; Dad was a corrupt cop once, too."

She sighs. "Lovely."

"I watch TV sometimes at the local bar, though, since the one at home is just for Dad, and -"

"At a _bar_?"

"It's the only place lit up late at night!"

"This is terrible," the enchantress says, her nose pointed so far down she was considering grinding it into the dirt to make a point. 

"Again, I'm willing to let the whole curse thing go. No charge."

"No, you don't understand, I - wait, 'no charge'? Were you planning on extorting money from me for not cursing you?"

"Obviously not," Len says. "I said 'no charge', didn't I?"

"Listen," the enchantress says, putting her head into her hands. "My powers are narrative driven. Once I start a curse, I have to finish it. That's just how it works."

"That sucks," Len says. "Mostly for me. Unless you can curse me to be really rich?"

"I was planning a Beauty and the Beast sort of deal," she confesses. 

"Like the Disney movie?"

"More or less. You sure you don't want to be a nasty vicious monster for a bit?"

"I'm already gonna grow into my dad, more likely than not," Len says with a sigh. "That's Beast enough. Listen, lady, I'm basically the prime example of the school-to-prison pipeline. I don't need any shortcuts."

"It has to be something along the same lines," she says. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry doesn't help me much," Len tells her. Then he frowns. "Say," he says. "What about doing it the opposite way around?"

"What do you mean?" she asks.

He tells her.

* * *

"In fairness, I was eleven," Len says. "I thought it was funny - no, don't say anything, I know you think my sense of humor is screwy even in the best of times, but it was even _worse_ back then, you know?"

An accusing silence.

"And I _told_ you about it," Len adds, indignant. "I _said_ that we shouldn't live together! I told you that it was a bad idea - I'm cursed, I said at _least_ ten times, and the curse applies to any household I consider my own - and you _knew_ I'd consider you part of the house as soon as you moved in."

The silence becomes, if anything, even more potent. 

"I promise I didn't know what you'd turn into," Len says desperately. "The curse really likes irony, but beyond that, it's utterly random as far as I can tell."

"Meow," Mick - or, rather, the rather adorable striped tabby kitten he'd turned into - says begrudgingly. 

"You'll get the hang of human speech again soon," Lisa sings from her perch on the couch. 

" _Me_ -oooow," Mick grumbles. 

"It's not 'easy for me to say' just because I'm a cockatiel!" she protests, fluffing her feathers. "S'not my fault my stupid brother has a curse that turns everyone but him into a beast!"

"Mrrrr," Mick agrees.

"Are you insulting me?" Len asks.

Mick flicks his tail at him. The gesture conveys remarkably well despite the different digits being used.

"Right," Len says. "I probably deserved that. Lisa, you need to do your homework." 

"I'm a _cockatiel_. Cockatiels don’t do homework."

"Do it on the goddamn porch, Lisa. You know the drill."

She huffs but takes wing - she loves flying more than anything else, which is how Len knows she's not really that pissed about the curse thing - and glides down towards the door, landing right in front of it and waddling out to transform back into a girl in a puff of golden feathers. They'd learned the hard way that she shouldn't fly out - she tended not to land on her feet. 

Mick watches the proceedings with interest, but doesn't follow suit - not that Len would blame him if he did. 

"Wouldn't blame you if you went running," Len tells the kitten sadly. "I knew you didn't believe me about the curse before this. But it weren't ever an issue till I got my own place..." 

Len had not considered his dad's place a household of his own. He'd been very clear with the enchantress about that limit - he didn't want to be unable to go to hotels, for one thing, and for another thing, including his dad’s place would undoubtedly end with Lewis turning into a rabid wolf and murdering him.

No thanks.

Mick mews a little by his leg, nuzzling Len's ankle.

He hasn't gone for the door.

Len picks him up and puts the kitten into his lap. 

"When you regain human speech, we'll talk about this," Len tells him, and sets about the very important business of scritching his criminal partner and (possibly) future boyfriend behind his now cat-shaped ears. 

Besides, if he plays his cards right, he might be able to get out from under his curse - the enchantress had said something about true love's kiss, after all...

* * *

"I want a refund," Len says. 

"You waited until after your twenty-first birthday!" the enchantress exclaims. "It's not my fault!"

"Haven't you ever heard of internalized homophobia?" Len demands. "Some of us take longer to get accustomed to the idea!" 

"But -"

"I live in the _Midwest_ ," he says, scowling at her. "The _homophobic_ parts, insofar as any parts aren't, given that I grew up in the _80s_ , during the _AIDS crisis_. Do you know how long it took me to admit even to myself that I wanted to kiss Mick? Much less work up the balls to see if he wanted to kiss me back when there was a good chance of me getting bashed in the face and left for dead if I asked him?"

The enchantress winces.

"Besides, _twenty-one_? That's absurdly young! That's barely even legal _drinking age_ , if you're the type to care about that sort of thing! That's college age, if you go to college! Most people don't meet their true loves by twenty one anymore! Do you know _anything_ about the effect of women's liberation on average marriage and divorce rates?!"

"I said I'm sorry already," she complains. 

"Don't say sorry," he says sternly. "Fix it."

"I _can't_! I told you!"

"I'm entitled to lie in bed at home with my boyfriend!" Len bellows. "How am I supposed to ask him to marry me if he's gonna be a _cat_ the whole time?"

"Mrrrrr?!" Mick yelps, lifting his fuzzy little head from where he was sunning himself by the window. 

"Pretend you didn't hear that," Len instructs him.

"I ain't gonna pretend -" Mick starts, tail starting to lash anxiously.

"Not _now_ , Mick!"

The enchantress holds up her hands. "Listen," she says. "I can't _undo_ the curse. But in light of your true love kiss -"

"Oh, we've done more than kiss by now," Len says. "But I'm getting tired of motels."

"I didn't need to know that," the enchantress says.

"You think _you_ didn't need to know that," Mick meows angrily. "Do you know the sort of things Lisa's been implying about our sex lives?!"

"I said I'm sorry!" she yelps. "Listen, okay, I can make it voluntary."

"What?"

"He'll still automatically turns into a cat in your house," the enchantress says. "But he can turn back at will, as long as he spends one hour out of -"

"Every day. _Max_."

"I was thinking more like -"

"One hour a day, or you're getting a tape of our honeymoon and any 'inconvenient' transformations that might occur during the process because you wanted an hour every three or some such bullshit."

"One hour out of every day is fine," she squeaks. 

"That's fine," Mick says, sitting down and licking his paws. "I don't mind the cat thing - like I _already said_ , Lenny! - and anyway, I could use a guaranteed hour of napping every day."

"You nap more than that _anyway_."

"Easier to nap as a cat. S'basically all they do, when they're not mousing."

"You've never moused," Len says. "You _will_ never mouse. You like mice too much. We can't even put out mousetraps because of you. We have _four pet rats_ now, Mick."

Mick hacks up a furball in response. 

"I can't believe I'm marrying you," Len says, making a face at him. 

"You haven't even _asked_ me, jerk."

"You gonna say no?"

Mick huffs. 

"Yeah, buddy; that's what I thought." 

"So, if that's all..." the enchantress starts, edging hopefully towards the door.

"Oh hell no," Len says. 

"What else is there?" she demands.

Len arches his eyebrows. "Are you familiar with polyamory? Non-monogamous relationships? The importance of _privacy_ in conducting such relationships while living in a still very monogamous-heterosexual patriarchal culture?"

"Uh," the enchantress says.

"Sit," Len says, pointing at the kitchen chair. “I’m going to explain. _At length_.”

She whimpers. 

“There will be _charts_ involved,” Len says darkly. 

"I'd make you some coffee to ease the pain," Mick says, having gone back to licking his paws. "But, you know, I'm a cat."

"You'll be able to turn back as soon as Len here gives you a kiss," she protests.

"A, I ain’t kissing the cat -"

"You literally kissed him when we came in here! While scritching him under the chin and calling him a good kitty!"

"We don't comment on your chosen forms of address to your significant others," Mick, injured, says with great dignity. "Leave off. Sometimes a man wants to be told he's a good kitty."

"B," Len says, ignoring them both, "you need to make this whole curse thing more flexible in case of guests before any lips get sealed and curses put in place."

The enchantress sighs. She's had some very successful cursings in the last decade - heirs of multinational corporations, politicians, assholes that made all their money in the tech bubble and wouldn't shut up about it - and some of them were widely admired in the enchantress community, but this little mistake was, she could tell, doomed to haunt her for a long time to come.

At least Lisa was really hot when she wasn't a golden cockatiel.

"- and don't think I don't know about you and my sister!"

"Oh, crap," the enchantress says, forgetting herself for a minute. 

Yep, no way this mistake was going away anytime soon.

* * *

"You seem stressed," Len says to Barry, who did, in fact, look stressed. And tired. Apparently, he was having a really bad time of it recently. "You should come over to my place and relax."

Barry stares at him. "We're in the middle of a robbery."

"So? After."

"A robbery that _you_ are committing, Snart!"

"Details," Len says soothingly while Mick does his best not to crack up as he empties the safe behind Barry's back. 

"Stop that," Barry says, noticing. 

"I'm just taking a little," Mick protests.

"That _doesn't_ make it _better_ – damnit, it still counts!"

"They won't notice it's gone," Len says.

"Of course they will, it's - whose safety deposit box is this, anyway?"

"Head accountant for the Darbyinians," Mick says. "S'where they put their drug money. We're gonna leave enough scattered around that the Feds'll be able to trace it back to 'em."

"..."

"As we said," Len says with a shrug. "We're only taking a little, and they won't notice that it's gone 'cause they'll be too busy getting arrested. C'mon, Scarlet. A man's gotta pay the rent."

"Have you considered a method _not_ involving crime?" Barry asks, but his shoulders are going down in surrender. It’s really hard to work up a righteous superheroic fervor to defend some asshole mobster’s drug money. "Also, I'm calling the police now."

"You do that," Len says agreeably. "And while they're on their way, we'll go back to my place for dinner and a nice, relaxing nap. On a related note - do you have any favorite animals?"

"How is that related to anything? And I'm not going home with you!"

"Pity," Len says. "Guess we'll have to eat all that pasta Mick made ourselves."

Barry hesitates. 

"Gotta get home soon anyway," Mick agrees. "Those garlic breadsticks are gonna need to come out of the ovens."

"Ovens - plural?"

"We did assume we'd be feeding a speedster," Len points out. "Guess all the food's going to waste - _and_ you give up your best chance of finding out where our secret hideout is -"

Barry pauses. "On second thought, I'm coming."

"Good," Mick says.

"Why do you want me to come over?" Barry asks, belatedly suspicious.

"I'm glad you're finally developing a sense of paranoia, very healthy," Len says approvingly. "Actually, we need you to come there to settle a bet. Promise that we'll let you go afterwards."

"You break promises as soon as you make them!"

"You run through walls," Len points out. "Why do you think you're going to have a problem?"

"Because – uh – because – oh, man! You’ve stolen Cisco's dampening handcuffs, that’s your plan!"

"It isn’t, actually, but thanks for the idea, kid," Mick says.

Barry sighs. 

But he does come along.

* * *

"Okay, what've you done with Barry?" Iris asks, her hands on her hips. 

Len blinks at her groggily. It’s very early in the morning for him – at least 8AM. Maybe even 7:30. "You know, I was expecting Cisco."

"He doesn't want to piss you off because he's still got hopes about having that threesome with Cynthia and your sister, and you couldn't pay Caitlin to do this," Iris answers impatiently. "Also, how are you still asleep? It's nearly eleven!"

Wait, it _is_?

"Thieving ain't exactly a nine-to-five job, okay?" Len says defensively. "Stay here, I'll get him for you."

Iris waits, kicking the door further open when it starts sliding closed. That's probably why she can see Len walking towards her, a large and lazy-looking turtle in his hands. The turtle was a bit larger than McSnurtle, with some pretty zig-zag markings on its shell. 

"Here you go," Len says, putting the turtle down on the ground right in front of the door.

"I asked for Barry," Iris points out.

Len glances down at the turtle. It isn't moving, just chewing on some lettuce and looking vaguely - sheepish?

Len reaches out a socked foot and slides the turtle over the doorway.

Iris watches, unsure of why he was doing this. She glances up at Len for an explanation, and thereby misses the small explosion of scales and shell that results in a sheepish looking Barry sitting on the porch, still chewing the lettuce. 

"Uh," he says. "Hi, Iris. What's up?"

She stares at him for a very long moment. "Barry,” she says eventually. “Were you just a _turtle_?"

"I was hanging out with McSnurt," Barry says. "I brought him here with me. I didn't want him to get lonely."

"Uh-huh," Len says, arching an eyebrow down at his resident superhero, who he must admit he hadn’t intended on having practically _move in_ once he found out about the curse. "And eating four times your weight in lettuce and getting your shell polished has nothing to do with it."

"You're really good at getting the right spots on my feet with that little brush," Barry says, apparently entirely seriously. “I love the little brush.”

"Guys? Why was Barry a turtle?" Iris interrupts.

"Technically, he's a tortoise, not a turtle. And the reason is that I'm cursed," Len says. "Long story."

"Is it some sort of meta-human..?"

"Nope. Just a curse."

"I checked him over for dark matter," Barry offers. "There wasn't any."

"Barry, stop eating that lettuce," Iris says. "Why a turtle?"

"Irony," Len says. "It's random, otherwise."

"What do you mean, random?"

"My household turns into beasts," Len explains. "I invited Barry into my house, so he turned into a beast. In his case, a turtle. Uh, tortoise. Whatever."

"And then, what, you spoiled him rotten just because?"

Len shrugs. "I like animals."

Iris considers this for a moment. "So that tabby kitten in the window...?"

"Mick."

"And the cockatiel?"

"Lisa."

"And if I stepped inside?"

Len smirks. "Guess we'll have to see."

He steps backwards from the door and beckons her inside with a gesture.

Two hours later, Barry - back in his placid tortoise form - looks at Iris. “I _told_ you it was nice," he says. “Just want to make that clear, you know. For the record. I told you so.”

Iris sighs, a little exhalation of air. 

"And you should've gotten human speech already," he adds, frowning. 

"I did," she says. "I just didn't have anything worth saying. Snart, keep up with that brushing."

"Sure," Len says, rolling his eyes even as he continues to gently run a brush through Iris' silky black fur. "Gotta say, I love your _hare_."

Iris - who had indeed become a beautiful longhaired angora rabbit - wrinkles her nose. "The petting is worth the puns," she decides. "But just barely."

"Have some lettuce," Barry says, bringing a leaf over.

She nibbles on some. "Oh," she says. "Oh, that's _good_. Three cheers for animal taste buds."

"I know, right?"

"Out of curiosity," Iris says, munching. "Who are the rats?"

"They're just rats," Len says. "Mick caught them, but felt bad about it, so we're taking care of them now."

"You're a terrible mouser," Iris informs Mick, who's dozing in the sunlight. 

"Uh-huh," he says with a yawn. 

"Wait," she says in sudden realization. "The _parka_!"

"What?" Barry asks.

"Snart's parka! Remember how I _swore_ to you that I saw a kitten riding in his hood that one time? Or in the pocket?"

"But the curse only applies to his house!"

"Technically," Len says. 

" _Technically_?!"

"We haven't quite figured out whether it’s that Len considers the parka 'home' or if I get to turn into a cat anytime I like because I'm his true love," Mick says, climbing up to his feet and leaping off the counter, turning back into a human as he did. 

Based on Barry's earlier transformation, Iris knows for a fact that clothing worn before a transformation is carried along, which means that Mick is shirtless because he felt like it. 

He drops an idle kiss on Len's brow. 

"Not in public," Len scowls at him.

"We're at _home_."

"But -"

"They won't squeal," Mick says. "They're not rats." He considered for a moment. "Or pigs. West, don't invite your dad over. I like bacon, and I might not be able to resist."

"Says the cat that adopts rats 'cause they 'deserve a better life'," Len mumbles.

"Shaddup. I feel different about roasting pigs, you know that."

"Aren't you Jewish?" Barry asks Len.

"I don't keep kosher," Len says. "Mick fries a mean bacon, okay?"

"I don't think dad will want to come visit anyway," Iris says, though she hesitates. "I mean, if I disappear, he might eventually come investigating...you know, Barry, we should probably go home."

She sounds very reluctant. Probably because Len's still stroking her back. 

"You probably should," Len agrees. 

"Awwww," Barry says. "I like having reasonable calorie requirements."

"You eat _four times_ your tortoise weight."

"Yeah, but that's still so much cheaper than eating four time my human weight. Plus I'm finally eating veggies!"

"You can come back anytime," Len says, rolling his eyes. "Just text Mick so he knows to stock up on the good stuff from the farmers' market."

"We will!" Barry chirps. "Right, Iris?"

Iris' mind is elsewhere. "Wait," she says. "If Mick's your true love, why isn't the curse broken?"

"Internalized homophobia," Len says promptly.

"...what?"

"We didn't kiss till after he turned twenty-one," Mick says. "Which is a stupid age for it. You know how low the chances are of both finding and getting with your true love before twenty-one?"

"No kidding," Barry says with a sigh. "I didn't get the balls to even _tell_ Iris I was in love with her until I was twenty four. Not even a hint!"

"We made it in the end," Iris says, reluctantly sitting up. "Wanna race to the door, Bear?"

"Hah!" Mick exclaims. "The tortoise and the hare!"

* * *

The Waverider was many things - new, interesting, futuristic, unbelievable - but it was never a home.

Not Len's home, at any rate. 

After the Oculus, Mick stayed because he couldn't bear to go back to the places Len _did_ call home - couldn't bear walking in there and not feeling the sudden urge to be small and furry and, yes, maybe a little fat. 

Any home would be empty without Len. 

And so he stays.

Some days, he almost manages to forget. 

Other days -

"I'm surprised you're taking such good care of that rat," Ray comments.

Mick doesn't look up from where he's brushing Axel's fur. "Why's that?"

"Dunno," Ray says. "You just never struck me as the animal type."

Mick snorts, and wonders for a brief second what Ray would've turned into, in another world where the Waverider _did_ become a home. 

"I had a bunch of rats as pets back in Central," he says, wielding the tiny brush skillfully. Axel always grabs his hand and gestures for him to continue whenever he stops: if Len was alive, Mick would ask who Axel had been as a human. Len loved those sorts of jokes. "Snart always did say I was the worst mouser alive."

"Mouser?" Ray asks, sounding confused.

"Don't worry about it, Haircut."

It's not like he'd ever understand.

* * *

It's Constatine that does it, actually; he's there to help them with something or another involving Kuasa and Zari and Amaya. Apparently, he's a specialist in more Judeo-Christian forms of magic, and the particular problem requires someone of a more nature-oriented bent.

"But don't worry," Constantine assures them. "I know someone. But you'd best be careful of not getting on her wrong side - she's powerful as hell, and vindictive, too."

And so they go to this amazing forest grove, all twisted into shapes and colors and everything, practically unreal in its overwhelming and terrifying beauty, and they go in with their heads all bowed in respect and then they look up and see –

"Heeeeeey, it’s the enchantress!" Mick says, and steps forward to bump fists. 

"Mick!" Sara hisses, horrified. "What are you -"

She shuts up real fast when the enchantress - wearing this gown that looks right out of the ballroom scene in Labyrinth - fist-bumps Mick right back. They'd agreed on fist-bumps after some incidents involving geckos crawling down Len's hand and over to hers while they were shaking hands.

"I've been looking for you," she tells Mick. "You know, I think you're the only person in Central City who I know that _didn't_ send me a request to bring him back. Very virtuous of you; I'm very impressed."

Mick, who totally would've done that if he'd _thought_ about it, blinks at her.

"Now, I need you to get me a rose of unnatural origin," the enchantress instructs.

Mick considers this. "Would Gideon-made count?"

"An AI? Huh. Yeah, sure, why not."

He gets her a nice red rose from the ship. Everyone else keeps trying to get the enchantress' attention so they can discuss the matter that brought them there, but she ignores them - though Mick can see that she's starting to get a little annoyed with them. She’s _busy_ , clearly. 

She waves her hands over the rose, and it somehow plants itself right in the middle of a stone table and stands up. 

Then it starts shedding petals, one by one.

"What's that mean?" Mick asks.

"It's a deadline," the enchantress says. She conjures up a cardboard box and opens it up.

Inside, there is the mangiest, grumpiest old alley cat, speckled black and grey, that Mick's ever seen. It looks about ready to murder someone, but appears to be considering whether it's worth condescending enough to actually do it.

The enchantress tries to reach in to lift it out of the box, but it hisses warningly at her, wielding claw very pointedly.

"This is for your own good, you stupid lump," the enchantress says, by which Mick interprets that she's had the cat for at least a week. But the cat still swipes at her hand when she tries again.

Giving up, the enchantress shoves the whole box over towards Mick. "Kiss him," she orders. 

"What?" Mick asks, bewildered.

"Kiss him before the petals all fall off," she clarifies. "And the spell will be broken."

Well, Mick hasn't gotten this far in his life by _not_ listening to weirdo crazy magic-type people.

He lifts the cat up - the cat doesn't protest it when it's him - and looks into its bright changeable blue eyes. 

Very familiar blue eyes. 

He swallows, suddenly anxious.

"Mick," the enchantress says, watching the rapidly depleting rose. “Any time now would be good.”

Mick leans forward and presses his lips to the top of the cat's head.

There's a giant poof of fur.

Mick overbalances at the sudden weight and ends up on his knees, but it's Len sitting there in his arms, looking just as grumpy and ornery as the cat did, and Mick doesn't even care that his knees are bruised.

He pulls Len in tight.

"That's at least fifteen separate wishes granted in one fell swoop," the enchantress says with satisfaction. "You have no idea how long it took me to find the right animal for his personality – it took _so long_ , but really I should’ve guessed alley cat from the very beginning, I just kept getting stuck on goats for some reasons – you know what, never mind – and then of course I had to find _you_ for the true love's kiss portion and you were off gallivanting in the who-knows-when -"

Len grumbles. He clearly hasn't fully gotten human speech back - that happens sometimes with transformations.

"Oh, yes, yes, the spell affecting your amulets," the enchantress says to the exclaiming Legends. "Don't _fret_. I’ll _get to it_. The spell is easily reversed. This is just more important."

"Clearly more important," Mick says, unable to keep his eyes off Len. "Thanks, enchantress."

"Don't mention it," she says. "Ever."

Much like the way that they don't mention the little white feathery Pegasus colt, no bigger than a dog, that sometimes hides in the back of their house when all of her terrifying enchantressing gets to be too much. 

"Got it," Mick says, still clutching onto Len. Then he stands, Len in tow. "C'mon," he says. "It's time to go home."

* * *

They have a party.

It's menagerie themed. 

There's catering, of course, and Len rents out the local pet shop employees to come groom and scritch and pet the army of animals - the curse doesn't count hired help and catering as part of the home, much to his relief - and maybe he had to pay them extra to make them forget about the way the animals chatted to each other as they got their manicures and their massages, but it's totally worth it.

He looks around the room – Len is, per usual, being the only human guest there – while idly stroking Mick’s kitten-soft striped fur from where he sits perched on Len’s shoulder. 

Zari is getting her nice long ring-tailed lemur tail brushed even as her clever little fingers work out the best parts of a pomegranate, which she hands over to Stein and Jax when she’s done – looks like Stein finally resigned himself to his new status as a chinchilla, despite his grumblings about being more of an owl, really, and Jax has finally settled down to permit his tail to get brushed as well. He’d been enjoying his new flying squirrel status all over the house, which was luckily built for such things. 

Meanwhile, Amaya is delicately snatching up some fish – she likes it even more now that she was a crane – while chatting with Iris and Sara and Constantine. 

Sara had been not at all surprised that she turned into a bird. She was, however, she admitted, somewhat surprised she’d turned into a goose. She’d recovered after Len had pointed out that she’d turned into a big, honking goose that could menace anyone she pleased. 

She’s still a little annoyed that Constantine had turned into a swan, though. Though certainly not nearly as confused as he was. 

Ray – a snake who professed to have the most “boopable” snake nose of all, even more than his beloved childhood pet Slinky – and Nate – an armadillo with a tendency to yell “steel up” and curl into a ball – are currently discussing the pros and cons of the various methods of scale-shining with Barry. It’s a very in-depth conversation, and their handlers – reptile- and reptile-adjacent lovers all – are quizzing them as to what worked best while trying willfully to ignore the reality of what was going on. 

Central City’s combination of entrepreneurial sprit and total denial of reality at its finest.

Felicity, who ended up being a rather cute mini-horse, is explaining the internet to the enchantress. That’s probably a bad idea, and Len should put a stop to it – as well as to Felicity’s occasional suggestion that she should bring Oliver over, in the spirit of curiosity as to what he’d turn into.

Len personally thinks it’d be a porcupine, and he’s not interested in getting stuck full of sharp things at any size, thanks. 

But he’s not going to bother them about that now.

No, let them enjoy the party.

After all, it’s a really good party.

* * *

And they lived happily ever after.


End file.
